


Exhale of Two

by NotOfThisWorld



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Gen, Suicide, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 14:28:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2854193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotOfThisWorld/pseuds/NotOfThisWorld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Whatever words he'd hope to say died on his lips"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exhale of Two

**Author's Note:**

> So I never intended for this to become a SPN fic, but sometimes the presence of Dean and Sam take over my original thoughts. You'll notice I don't say who is who. So sorry, but you have to choose who dies and who lives.

 

 

 It's on the edge of falling from his mouth. He can feel the weight of it on his tongue, the pressure behind his teeth, the contraction in his throat. He wants to hear it aside from inside his mind, to speak them. He wants to say those words he knows they've both heard before. But the words are no longer just breaths of air, they hold a value they once hadn't. His life, more distinctively, this moment changed the worth of his words. The blood that dripped from his lips removed any trivialness meaning of the phrase. The phrase that his cranium cease to stop repeating. The things he wanted to repeat out loud, as he had so many times before, felt the same as the pain of his open wounds. Similar to his ripped skin and seeping body. The reactions of his soul and body identical. They both blinded him with their overwhelming presence. The very knowledge of them caused him to reach for an absent weapon. Preparing to fight for his life and for whatever happiness he could find in it. He would not leave, he would not surrender the remaining years his mother had promised him since birth. He would not let a sharp blade take what was truly and only  his to claim. The body beside him, shook with fright and anguish, as did its voice. The begging of gods and the cursing of demons strung together between the crackling of its throat. If the saliva and blood was absent of his mouth, he may have joined his brother, but as fate would have it, saliva and blood made their presence known with their slick abundance. His head being lifted and placed in the lap of the only family he was left with. Their ragged breathing mingling with one another. One filled with regret, the other filled with sorrow. He couldn't decipher his own, breath nor feeling. Just as their blood tarnished their appearance, this moment tarnished their souls, for however long time would prolong them. He reached toward the one who had always, as now, been holding him. Time had changed many things, but one fact would always remain the same. Their hold on each other had never faltered. When there is only one physical body on earth that share the same inner likeness of elements, hold tightly and never leave. Unsurprisingly, fate nor nature hears the promise of residence between brothers. The assurance of recovery fell from his brothers mouth, as well as tears from eyes. Unbeknownst to his brother, his cries were pleading to be ripped from his own throat. He wants nothing but to kill the one that dared bring such turmoil to them. Did the wielder of death not know of their need for one another? Did the fool not apprehend that a death of one would unquestionably cause a death of a second? As the man with the wound in his side stared into the eyes of the man with the wound in his heart, he knew that in this moment they were both dead. Whether one lived, the other could not. The man cradling the head of his dying brother began to justly weep, for he too came to the same conclusion in the same time. They wept together for the moments they would never have, for the pieces of their life that would never fall to their places, for the time they knew they would never reach, for the death of a brother. The bloodied man, trying to speak the muddle of his thoughts, to form the words. The words that would mean goodbye without a goodbye. His brother stroked his brow, wiping dirt and hurt from his forehead. Whatever words he'd hoped to say died on his lips. They inhaled in the same time, but only one exhale was clear. His brother crumpled, his fists beating the soaked, unmoving chest beneath him. Each hit accompanied with a scream of refusal. Shaking the face of the fallen man, crying to hear words. To hear the goodbye without a goodbye. No matter the force of his fist, nor the strain of his voice, no words came. His brother wiped his face from blood and dust with the tears of his eyes and the edge of his clothing. As his mind began to retrieve its rational thoughts that were once with him, he embraced the body of the one who would never embrace again. Protecting him, though his body no longer needing protecting. Pressing his forehead to a still heart, he refused to utter a word that would fall on deaf ears. Yet his heart begged for it. He would find a way to speak to the listening ears of his brother one day, he swore.

 

* * *

           

 That chance would not come to him, not at once in the least. The chance would come some years later when he finds that worn book that was once a gift, as was the gun that fit in his hand so comfortably. He understood more about death then he ever once did. This he knew, death lived in everyone and death was closer to him than anyone. Ironically death was once something he cursed, until he learned to welcome it. He waited for death, as a spouse waits for a soldier. With want in his heart and fear in his eyes. Desire for their companionship with each rise of the sun, and hate for each rise of a moon without. But today's sun brought much more than a brightened world. It brought promise, it brought peace, he could feel it beneath his skin. He wept alone. He wept for the moments he had, for the pieces that fell into place, for the time he reached, for the death of a brother still. His ending was coming, his ending had been coming for a long time. Since the moment his hands patted the etched stone, that sat above fresh ground. With every memory formed of one, meant for two. His ending took a step with every lack of another. An opening door of a life, only set his body on fire for a closing. He knew that living meant dying and dying would surely mean to be dead. But was it not the same? Living as the dying and dying as the dead? His fight was done, his war finally won. He was going to see his brother, the one that had died for him, the one who he'd speak his goodbye without a goodbye intended but only as promised. Steady hands, silent tears and shaky inhales could be heard only by the possessor and God. Yet, in a place that could not be seen, there was a clear and unmistakable exhale of two.

 


End file.
